


the things that you want (are so hard to find)

by oneshinyapple



Series: Like Gravity [2]
Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Divergence, Cuddling, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, M/M, Praise Kink, Romantic Comedy, accidentally dating, handjobs, inappropriate use of superpowers, porn that grew plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-18 20:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16125917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneshinyapple/pseuds/oneshinyapple
Summary: Peter Parker has revealed his identity to the Fantastic Four again, and all is well with his best friend Johnny Storm. They hang out more often, they eat a ton of junk food together, and they have dedicated movie nights that end in cuddling — you know, just like all best friends do. It’s all completely platonic. Really.+///+“No, trust me, you don’t want to die by anaconda the way they do it in the movies, Johnny. It would be terrible.”“It’s gotta be better than being eaten by a shark.” He pointed at the TV. “Look at them screaming in pain!”“You wouldn’t actually feel anything. The brain tends to shut out pain in the face of—”“Oh, God. No. Don’tscienceit.”





	the things that you want (are so hard to find)

**Author's Note:**

> Edit notes: the only edit to this fic is that it has been moved to the “Like Gravity” series and also put in its own sub-series “Stay With Me”. I did debate putting this in Like Gravity before but I had other plans. But then my plans merged and this happened.
> 
> Diverges from canon after the events of Amazing Spider-Man #590-591. Completely ignores American Son/Dark Reign, and Doctor Doom shenanigans that take place in that time.
> 
> Title is from “Sidekick” by Walk The Moon. Which is about friends hooking up after watching a movie. What a coincidence.

If pressed, Peter would blame Randy Robertson and Norah Winters, though, in hindsight, he knew he should probably thank them.  Whatever the case, it was one of them (or maybe both of them together) who came up with the brilliant idea of checking out the new club they heard the Front Line staff talking about over lunch, with Norah dragging Peter along under the pretense of needing a photographer to document the “up-and-coming new center for youth and music”.  And even though Peter had whined and complained the whole way, the hope of a paycheck proved too great. It wasn’t like he had to do much work, anyway. He just needed to snap a few photos and leave Norah to figure out some way to justify the visit as professional curiosity. 

That was how Peter found himself feeling pathetic at the bar and nursing a glass of orange juice, instead of inside his apartment, nursing absolutely nothing because he’d be passed out and dead to the world already.  He’d already taken several dozen pictures and Norah had done a few cursory interviews and studied the week’s line-up of independent bands and DJs. He could have left — he  _should_ have left. But the thing was, it wasn’t like no one was interested.  A few people actually  _were_ , even though, with the majority of his interactions with people he didn’t know usually involving punching them in the throat after engaging them in intentionally aggravating banter, he felt horribly out of his element.

After the last woman who’d approached him had drifted away — not so much turned off as just overwhelmed by his babbling about shutter speeds and focal lengths when she’d asked about his camera — he sensed an abrupt shift in the crowd, the way a lake rippled when a stone was cast.  Conversations died down only to start up again, lower in volume but more intense in tone than before.

Peter could make an educated guess about what was happening even without looking: someone famous, someone immediately recognizable, had arrived.

“Peter! Pete!” Norah hissed, suddenly at his elbow. “Get your camera ready, come on!”

He looked up at her, startled. “What? What do you want it for?”

“You’ll thank me in five minutes when you get a shot you can sell for double your usual rate and I have an exclusive interview.”

He looked from her to Randy then back again.  “Did the Rhino just walk in?”

Randy snorted. “No way the Rhino gets you that much. And no. Think prettier.”

A celebrity, then. Peter turned back to his juice, completely uninterested.  “I’m no paparazzo, man.”

“Thank goodness for that,” a familiar voice on his other side said mockingly at the same time an arm draped across his shoulders. And no—Oh, no. Peter knew that voice and the weight of that arm extremely well. And judging by Randy and Norah’s frozen gawking, it belonged to the same person their current discussion was about.

Peter slowly turned his head. Yep. There he was. Johnny Storm, flawless as usual, blue eyes and blond hair and obscenely expensive outfit and all.  He hadn’t changed much since Peter had last seen him. Then again, that had been roughly only a week before, when they parted ways after returning from the macroverse and Peter had let the Fantastic Four in on his secret identity for the second time.

“Hey, Parker.” Johnny’s grin was like a sharp knife, cutting through his thoughts and driving them away.  Peter felt the peculiar warmth that was an equal mixture of irritation and… something  _else_  that he felt every time he saw the Human Torch. That something else being something he never really wanted to look at too closely and usually attempted to ignore.  Johnny’s grin broadened, seeing something in Peter’s face that either amused or intrigued him. “Haven’t been insulted by you in a while.”

“I was on vacation,” Peter said without missing a beat, strongly aware of Norah and Randy staring at him as if he’d grown a second head. Because of course. Even if Peter Parker was known to be familiar around superhero circles, his banter with Johnny probably sounded too familiar. He might have to deal with a million questions later, but for the moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Is being a pain in my ass a full time job?”

“More like a hobby. And that’s my line.”

Johnny lowered himself onto the empty stool next to his and signaled the bartender.

“Really? You’re sitting there?” Peter sighed.

Johnny’s only response to that was to plant himself even more firmly in the chair and rest his arms on the bar, smiling at the woman who had just walked up. “Hey, Brianne.”

The bartender nodded in acknowledgement and tilted her head slightly. “The usual, Johnny?”

“Sure. Hey, maybe even refill my buddy’s drink here.”

“You mean your buddy’s orange juice?”

Johnny looked at Peter, one eyebrow raised.

Peter stared back. “Are you judging me right now?”

“Nope. I mean, whatever, man. I know how you get about drinking. Just…couldn’t you have picked something  _slightly_  less wholesome? Like maybe iced tea?  Hell, even water.  Or did they run out of milk?”

“Oh, yeah, we’re saving it for all the White Russians we have to make. People who want screwdrivers, though, they can get out,” Brianne said, deadpan, and went off.

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw Randy discreetly trying to steer Norah away and back onto the dance floor. But she was in reporter mode, her eyes narrowed and calculating as she watched their exchange.

She shrugged Randy off and moved closer.  “So. Peter. Aren’t you going to introduce the Human Torch to your  _friends_?”

“Why? You already know who he is.”

“Pete,” Johnny said, sounding exasperated. “Has anyone ever told you you’re rude?”

“You. Several times. I wouldn’t want to disappoint you now.”

“Wow. Aren’t  _you_  in a bad mood.” Johnny rolled his eyes and gave Norah a winsome smile. “Please excuse Parker. He’s a loser, even though he seems to know a  _lot_  of pretty girls.” He held out his hand. “Johnny Storm.”

Norah grabbed his hand, her face breaking out in a clearly predatory grin. “Norah Winters, Front Line.”

The regret was instantaneous and plain on Johnny’s face, his eyes darting to Peter for help.

“Maybe next time you’ll trust me, huh?” Peter smirked.

Norah still wasn’t letting him go, and Randy was starting to look upset.

“Pete, come on, dude. My best man. My best buddy,” Johnny said desperately, just as Norah started to launch into a question about the latest superhero fiasco and Johnny’s opinion of it.

Peter sighed and stood up, prying Norah’s death grip loose.

“Parker, don’t get in my way—”

“Tell you what, Norah. You and Randy go and dance and  _I’ll_  talk him into agreeing to a scheduled interview.”

“Nuh-uh. A scheduled interview means screened questions, right? That’s BS. I get that you want to protect your pal, Parker, but what about press freedom?”

“My pal? Did you not hear a single word we’ve said to each other? Do I sound like I  _like_  him?”

Randy tugged her away. “Pete’s right, Norah. Come on. You can get your scoop some other time. You already found one story tonight.”

“Ugh. Fine!” Norah exclaimed, breaking free of Randy so she could wag a finger in Johnny’s face. “I’ll let you go this  _one_  time. But any other, you’re fair game.” Then she grabbed Randy and yanked him back into the crowd.

Johnny looked at his crushed hand and shook it gingerly.  “Thanks, man,” he muttered, turning back to the bar.

A bright yellow frozen drink with a little umbrella arrived for Johnny, and Peter’s nearly dry glass got swapped for a full one.

Johnny gave him a sardonic salute with his glass and moved closer, bumping their shoulders together. “Gotta say, Pete,” he began in a low, conspiratorial voice. “I expected you to pretend you didn’t know me in front of your friends.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “You kind of took that option away from me by knowing my name.”

“Hmm,” Johnny hummed thoughtfully into his glass. “Guess I did. Wow, how careless. Anyway, I’m surprised to see you here. Not your usual idea of a fun night.”

“My idea involves a lot more spandex, you mean.”

“Kinky,” Johnny smirked.

“I gave you that one for free.”

“I know,” he smiled, and finished his drink. “You know what, your idea of fun is actually very attractive right now.”

“Yeah?” Peter asked absently, distracted by a bead of crushed ice melting on Johnny’s lower lip.

“Want to go punch some bad guys?”

“Oh, Human Torch,” Peter began, doing his best impression of love-struck and breathless. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“You’re terrible, Pete,” Johnny said, tossing a bill that was far too large onto the counter as he got to his feet. He leaned in close and Peter hoped he didn’t notice the involuntary shudder that ran through him when he felt Johnny’s warm breath in his ear. “The rooftop. Don’t make me wait too long.”

 

+///+

 

It was too late to go to the Statue of Liberty so they raced to the Chrysler Building instead and Peter felt his heart begin to lighten for the first time in a while. Ever since he came back from the adventure with Johnny’s family, his life felt like it was spiraling out of his control, from being declared New York’s worst enemy by J. Jonah Jameson — who had been elected mayor while he was away — to finding himself suddenly saddled with a roommate who hated his guts even more than his  _last_  roommate had. Not to mention all the on-going problems following the registration act.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Johnny said when Peter touched down beside him atop their finish line.

“I don’t have any change for a penny,” Peter joked.

Johnny’s eyebrows shot up. “You know, there’s a limit to self-deprecation being funny. Beyond that, it gets sad.”

Peter shrugged and sat down on the edge of the roof, feet dangling over a long stretch of nothing but thin air. “Sorry.”

Johnny sighed and sat down next to him. The next instant, he was tugging at Peter’s mask.

“What—Hey!”

“It’s late. No one’s around, man. Let me see your face.”

Peter gave up and let him pull it off.

“There,” Johnny said softly, the wind carrying his voice. He handed the mask back to Peter. “Much better.”

“I always knew you liked my face.”

Johnny groaned and looked up at the sky. “Don’t make it weird.”

“You just did.”

Johnny ignored him, lapsing into an unusual, thoughtful silence, something that rarely ever happened between the two of them. Peter was accustomed to insults and teasing flying fast and freely, with the occasional display of actual affection that accompanied them. Not this stillness and this unseen distance, when Johnny’s mind seemed to have drifted so very far away.

“Penny for  _your_ thoughts, firefly,” Peter said.

“You couldn’t afford my thoughts, Parker,” Johnny smirked, drawn back to the moment.

“Priced so high because they’re so rare.”

Johnny pushed against his arm playfully, making him laugh even as he lurched sideways, only prevented from falling off by his sense of balance and Johnny’s hand automatically catching his forearm and pulling him back.

Johnny stared at him, Peter’s arm still in his grip, and Peter’s laughter faded. He was about to ask his friend what was bothering him, why he had left a vibrant party scene that was usually more his speed to lead Peter to this lonely height instead, when Johnny spoke of his own accord.

“I still can’t believe you did that to me.”

Peter cocked his head, confused. “Huh?”

“I understand doing it to everyone else, but my family?  _Me?_ ”

 _Let me see your face,_ Johnny had said earlier, and Peter blinked down at the mask in his hands. “Oh. This is about the spell that made you forget you knew me.”

“Yes, this is about the spell that made me forget,” Johnny said, a mocking lilt in his voice.

Peter tried to shake his hand off gently, but Johnny only tightened his grip in response. “It was nothing personal. I thought you’d gotten over this.”

“So did I.”

“Dude, you set my mask on fire while I was still wearing it, what else do you even want?”

Johnny gave him an annoyed look and flicked a finger, an ember appearing out of nowhere. It landed on the mask in Peter’s lap.

“Shit!” Peter yelled, jumping to his feet and tossing his smoldering mask to the rooftop before stomping on the slowly building flames.

“I’d do it a hundred times,” Johnny said defiantly. “You took what was mine and I had to get it back.”

Peter stared down at his partially charred mask and buried his face in his hands with a groan. “Johnny. Do you actually hate me?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll get back to you on that one. Now, come here.”

Peter gave him an suspicious glare. “Not until you get a grip on your pyromaniac tendencies.”

Johnny rolled his eyes and grabbed him by the wrist. “Sit. Down.”

“You’re all touchy tonight, you know?” Peter complained, though he picked up his ruined mask and sat back down grumpily. “Look, What do you want me to say? The whole world knew who I was, I had no choice. A spell that would cover everyone on earth was the only solution, and there was no room in there for an exceptions clause, okay?”

“Would I have even been included in one?”

Peter opened his mouth then closed it again. He hadn’t wanted any exceptions in the first place.

“I thought so,” Johnny said, his mouth a thin line.

“Torch. It’s nothing personal, you know that, right? There’s nothing wrong with any of you. It’s not about not finding you trustworthy. It’s— _me_.”

Johnny snorted. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Me neither.”

To his surprise, Johnny laughed, his fingers around Peter’s wrist loosening. “That’s the most classic bullshit line of all time. ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’”

“It’s true, though,” Peter said softly.

Johnny only laughed harder.

“You’re going to fall off if you don’t stop,” Peter said crossly.

“I can fly, you goof.”

Peter shoved him. Johnny retaliated by grabbing his mask and holding it out of reach.

“Torch—What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Don’t do it again,” he said, all trace of laughter gone. “Give me your word you’ll never do anything like that again.”

“I—”

“Peter.”

“I give you my word,” he said reluctantly.

Johnny regarded him silently. “You’d take it back in a heartbeat if you have to, but I appreciate that you mean it right now,” he said at last, and held out the mask.

Peter reached for it, but instead of letting go when Peter’s fingers closed over it, Johnny only held on tighter.

 _“Torch,”_  Peter said, exasperated, tugging insistently until Johnny finally let go. He pulled the mask back on, if only to keep it safe, and wondered if he imagined the look of disappointment on Johnny’s face.

It disappeared far too quickly, obscured by a wreath of flame. “Baxter Building,” Johnny said, his breath clouding in the thin air. “Pizza and a monster movie. You and me.”

“A winning combo,” Peter said, unsure which one he meant to refer to. The first, the second, maybe even the combination of both. He followed in Johnny’s wake, lost in thought.

 

+///+

 

Peter wasn’t so stubborn that he wouldn’t admit he’d missed this — hanging out with Johnny, watching old movies while shoving junk food into his face. Under extreme duress, he might even have said it out loud.

“Just think about it,” Johnny began and, before he could even say more, Peter knew whatever followed would make him want to take back his previous thought. “If you were sixty stories tall, would you classify as a kaiju?”

“I’m not Japanese!” Peter protested, swallowing a mouthful of pizza as the film ran on, about to be ignored, he suspected.

“Funny how you think that’s what disqualifies you. None of them are Japanese, either.”

“You know what I mean! I don’t think spiders are big in the lore. Besides, I’m not some nuclear-powered monster-guardian creature.”

“Are you sure? You fight the bad guys — sometimes literal monsters and vaguely Godzilla-shaped — and no one knows how much of you is irradiated spider. You wouldn’t let Reed find out.”

“I’m human!” Peter protested. Then added, weakly. “Mostly.”

Johnny snickered. “You’re probably just lucky you don’t have four arms and four legs or something.”

Peter winced.

Johnny cocked an eyebrow. “You’re kidding.”

“Six arms,” he admitted reluctantly. “And it was just for a bit! Just once!”

Johnny toppled onto his side, towards Peter’s end of the couch, howling uncontrollably.

“It’s not funny,” Peter said reproachfully. “I thought I was going to be stuck like that forever.”

“I don’t know. I’m sure someone out there has a fetish for that sort of thing,” Johnny snorted then laughed some more, pressing his face into the sofa while his hand curled around Peter’s knee.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, Storm,” Peter muttered, biting back a grin he couldn’t help, something about Johnny’s laughter making him feel like laughing, too.

Johnny hiccupped, looked up at him with his face red and eyes shining with tears of mirth, and went off again.

Peter endured. He supposed he didn’t mind Johnny laughing at him so long as Johnny was just  _laughing_. It was far preferable to the distant, pensive Johnny back on the Chrysler Building.

After a few minutes, Johnny calmed down and rearranged himself on the couch so that he was lying on his side across its full length, his head on Peter’s thigh, his hand still on Peter’s knee.

Peter stared down at him, holding his breath, but Johnny seemed intent on the TV screen, eyes fixed straight ahead

“So if you were a six-hundred-foot giant spider monster,” Johnny tried again, “would you shoot lasers like everybody else or would you stick— _ha!_ —with webs?”

Peter considered this even while his mind kept trying to divert his attention back to Johnny’s head in his lap, his golden hair a bright contrast to Peter’s dark jeans. “I think I’d stick with webs. More  _me_ , you know.”

Johnny made a small, thoughtful sound and nodded. “Minimal damage, right? No one actually gets hurt, and everything disappears after an hour.”

Peter willed himself to relax. Johnny didn’t seem to be bothered one bit by his place in Peter’s lap, after all. Maybe this was perfectly normal. Maybe Harry or Flash would do the same if he sat still long enough. He didn’t know. He should probably quit running out on them all the time.

Johnny’s hand squeezed his knee. “…Pete?”

Peter shook himself. “Did you say something?”

Johnny glanced at him out of the corner of one blue eye. “Never mind.” On the screen, the credits began to roll. Peter had no idea what they’d just watched. “You pick the next one,” Johnny said with a yawn.

“Are you sure? You seem tired—”

Johnny squeezed his knee again.

“Alright, fine. Frankenstein?”

“Sounds great.”

Peter picked up the remote, found the movie, and pressed play.

Unsurprisingly, Johnny fell asleep in less than fifteen minutes. Peter couldn’t find it in his heart to wake him.

 

+///+

 

Norah was waiting for him at Front Line the next day, just as Peter thought she might. “So did you get me my exclusive, Parker?” she asked without preamble, arms crossed as she sat behind her desk.

Peter dropped the prints he’d taken for her the previous night on top of her desk. “Good morning to you, too, Norah,” he said mildly, not bothering to answer the question and hoping she’d take it as a no and just drop the whole thing.

She uncrossed her arms and suddenly leaned forward, grabbing his tie. In one swift motion, she’d wound the narrow piece of cloth around her hand and used it to yank him closer. “Are you at least going to tell me why Johnny Storm was  _flirting_  with you?” she asked, her eyes fixed on his face.

Peter supposed he should just be thankful she wasn’t yelling about it, given her usual tendency towards  _loud_. “Johnny wasn’t flirting with me.”

Norah gave him a long, steady stare before finally releasing him.

Just as he was starting to feel relieved that he’d managed to get out of that, Norah slapped a tabloid onto her desk.

It was one of the less respectable rags, one that specialized in doomsday predictions and celebrity dirt and gossip.  It was folded open at the latter section and Peter felt his stomach drop all the way down to his shoes.

HUMAN TORCH FINDS NEW FLAME?

There they were, under that headline: in a blurry, badly framed photo, sitting at the bar, faces turned towards each other. Peter wasn’t clearly recognizable, the lower half of his face hidden by his own shoulder and the rest of it obscured by shadows.  But Johnny — Johnny was clear as day, with a conspiratorial smile on his face, his eyes crinkling slightly around the corners.  Their shoulders were touching.  Even Peter had to admit that they were sitting way too close to be strangers or casual acquaintances. But it still felt like a leap to assume any romance, he felt. Why couldn’t they just be close friends?

“I can’t believe someone took a photo of us,” Peter said.  Without him noticing, even. His spider sense couldn’t be broken again, since he managed to cross every street without getting run over that morning even while scrolling through an alarming number of texts from Johnny.

“Oh, there’s more,” Norah said, pointing to a smaller photo further down the page, where Johnny was whispering in his ear, his hand on the small of Peter’s back.  “And to be fair, according to the article, whoever the source was didn’t mean to, they were taking pictures of their friends and you guys were in the background. Explains why it’s complete crap.

Peter sighed and looked at her. “What do you want, Norah?”

“Oh. Oh, this isn’t  _blackmail_ , Peter. I’m not going to go around telling everyone it’s you in that picture.  I just wanted to see your face.  So how long have you been a thing?”

“We are not a thing.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re a shitty liar?”

Peter almost laughed.

 

+///+

 

Peter meant to call Johnny sooner and tell him about the pictures, but he and Norah had had to cover a press event at City Hall, then the opening of a new exhibit at the Met and a lead on an arms smuggling story Norah had most certainly not been assigned but had insisted on “looking into” despite Peter’s calls for caution.

By the time Peter got home and changed into more comfortable sweats and a t-shirt, the picture had already made the rounds of most of the Internet’s trashier gossip sites.  While it hadn’t exactly been ignored, it hadn’t blown up, either. Most likely it was because of the photo’s awful quality, even though it was actually much clearer in digital than it had been in print.  Still, if Peter had been more identifiable, it would have gotten more interest, but idle speculation with very little clues to go on could only hold mainstream attention for so long.

He looked at the photos through his battered laptop a bit longer. He hadn’t heard from Johnny about it, which was odd given how closely he followed news about himself. Peter sighed and reached for his phone.

Johnny picked up after seven or eight rings, just when Peter was about to hang up, thinking he was probably busy. “Pete?”

“Congratulations, babe, we made the news,” Peter joked, hoping to get it out of the way immediately.

“What?” Johnny shouted from the other end. Peter frowned.

“Johnny? Are you in trouble?”

“We just got back from a trip and Reed is taking apart this alien machine thing—God, that noise is driving me  _nuts_. Can I come over?”

“What?” It was Peter’s turn to say it, startled.

“Or we can meet up somewhere,” Johnny continued, still shouting. “I just need to get out of here, man.”

Peter listened, straining to hear anything over the phone, but all he got was the sound of Johnny breathing. “Johnny, are you okay? I don’t hear anything.”

Johnny laughed bitterly. “Of course, you don’t. Reed said it’s projecting the sound psychically, which is why it’s breaking through all the soundproofing. Look, I’m going out, anyway. If I don’t, I’m gonna go out of my  _mind_. What do you say?”

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. “Come over.” They didn’t need any more pictures of the two of them hanging out in public, and Peter’s Spider-Man suit was still drying in his bathroom. Fortunately, his awful roommate was at a conference the entire week.

“Oh, thank God. I’ll bring the pizza,” Johnny said brightly. “You pick the monster movie.”

“I think I have a DVD of King Kong somewhere.”

“Dude. I can’t believe you still have DVDs.”

Peter looked up at the ceiling. It was going to be another long night.

 

+///+

 

Johnny turned up at Peter’s door thirty minutes later, pizza in hand, wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap. And a Spider-Man t-shirt.

“Nice shirt,” Peter said.

“Thought you’d get a kick out of it,” Johnny grinned.

“But sunglasses at night? Really?” he asked, taking the pizza and letting him in.

“It’s a disguise, web-wit,” Johnny said, taking it off and rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, now instead of my neighbors gossiping about some celebrity coming over, they’re going to be whispering about some creep skulking around.” Peter looked at his cluttered coffee table, considered for a moment, then swept everything to the floor to make room for the pizza.

Johnny picked up a broken webshooter that had fallen, turning it over in his hands as he sat down on the sofa. “So what did you call me about, anyway? I only heard the bit about making the news. Don’t we always?”

Peter snorted and muttered, under his breath but still loud enough to hear, “Not like this.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow and pulled out his cellphone, doubtless to Google himself. Peter let him, going to the kitchen to get sodas from the refrigerator.

“Oh,” Johnny said just as Peter joined him on the couch.

“That’s all you got to say?”

Johnny gave him a sidelong glance, a weird expression on his face. “You’re not freaking out.”

“You can’t even tell it’s me, Torch.”

“Not that, I mean—” He stopped, biting his lip.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, just spit it out.”

“I hate my face in it,” Johnny said, turning off the display and putting his phone back in his pocket.

“Aw, it doesn’t look any worse than your usual face.”

“Shut up.”

Peter frowned. He was surprisingly red. “No, seriously. It bothers you? You look the same as you always do, annoyingly enough. It’s not even a bad angle. Trust me, I’m a photographer.”

“Let’s drop it, okay?” Johnny asked, leaning back and closing his eyes. “Just play the damn DVD.”

“Whoa, there’s no need to swear at me. I’m sorry they got a stupid photo and my spider sense didn’t go off—”

“I’m not mad at you, Peter,” Johnny said slowly, with obviously forced calm. He opened his eyes and looked at him. “I’m not, okay? Let’s just stop talking about this and get to the main event, all right?”

Peter stared at him. “Okay,” he said, and pressed play on the remote.

They watched the movie in silence for a while, Peter aware the entire time that he was doing most of the eating and drinking and looking at the TV (even though he wasn’t really paying attention). Johnny didn’t seem to have much of an appetite, and he kept sneaking glances at Peter when he thought he wouldn’t be noticed.

He was upset about the picture, Peter realized. Of course, he would be. Maybe if Johnny had been with someone better, or anyone else, he wouldn’t care.

Peter wished he hadn’t brought it up.

He was reaching for the final slice of pizza, determined to drown out his sudden misery with grease and dairy, when Johnny spoke.

“Peter, there’s something I want to ask you.”

Peter gave a start at the sound of his voice and felt something in his back creak in protest.  “Ow.  _Ow._  Oooh, that  _hurts_.”

Johnny frowned. “Pete? Are you okay?”

“Yeaaaah,” he answered, slowly and carefully pulling his arm back. “I’m just dying here for fun.”

_“Peter.”_

“It hurts.”

“What does?”

“ _Everything._ But mostly my back and shoulder,” he groaned.

“What did you do?” Johnny sighed.

“What  _didn’t_  I do?” Peter quipped.

Johnny didn’t laugh.

“Look it was either the fight with the Sandman yesterday when he threw me into a train or when my cartridge jammed and I fell ten stories this morning or — ooh — could have been the Shocker hitting me in the shoulder point-blank with those gauntlets.”

“Jesus. How are you alive?” Johnny muttered and moved off the couch. “Lie down here. On your stomach.”

“What? Why?”

“For once, will you just do as I say?” Johnny asked.

Peter stretched out as instructed, grumbling, though that ceased abruptly the moment he felt something warm on his back, like a hot compress soothing his aching muscles. Peter let out a contented sigh.  _“Johnny.”_

Johnny stilled for a split second and cleared his throat. “This okay?”

“More than okay. If I had money, I’d offer to pay you, like, a lot, for a massage,” Peter groaned into the sofa.

“How much is a lot?”

“I don’t know. Twenty? That’s a lot. That’s, like, more than ten lunches.”

“I’m concerned about your dietary choices and you could never afford my massage services,” Johnny said lightly. “But I guess I can give a friend a freebie.”

“Could you? I would love you forever.”

“I might hold you to that,” Johnny said, and laid his hands on him.

Bliss. Pure bliss. Johnny’s hands were unexpectedly gentle, and comforting in their warmth. He didn’t need to apply much force like others would, relying instead on his natural heat to help soothe Peter’s pain.

“Why haven’t we done this before?” Peter moaned, trying not to drool onto the cushion underneath his cheek.

“You never asked.”

“Nngh. My mistake… _Fuck_ , Johnny. Right  _there._ ”

Johnny paused then said, in a pained voice, “Can you not do that?”

“Do what? God, don’t stop.”

“Stop it!” Johnny hissed.

_“What?”_

“You’re—You’re making  _porn_  noises.”

“I’m moaning because it feels goo— _ahhh_ ,  _fuck_.”

“Don’t make me gag you.”

“Is that your kink? Because— _ouch!_ ” Peter grunted when Johnny’s gentle kneading turned into a pinch in his side.

“You’re impossible,” Johnny said, flopping down on one end of the couch.

“Oh, come on!”

“You don’t deserve it.”

Peter sighed and rolled over, putting his feet up in Johnny’s lap. “I feel better already, anyway. Thanks, Torchie.”

Johnny crossed his arms and stared straight at the TV, though Peter could swear he saw a touch of pink on his cheeks.

“Hey.”

Johnny looked at him.

“We should do this more often.”

“Movie night?”

Peter stared at him. In the shifting glare of the TV, Johnny’s features seemed more angular, shaped by harsh shadows. It made his normally delicate beauty seem less fragile. His photographer mind wanted to find a camera and snap a picture but his normal-person mind said that would be weird.

“Peter?”

He realized he was expected to say something. “Yeah,” he breathed, turning back to the TV. “Movie night. AKA  _massage_  night.”

Johnny groaned and shoved Peter’s feet off his lap. “Don’t push your luck.”

 

+///+

 

Peter went for his weekly dinner with Aunt May the following day feeling more energized than he had in a while. Why wouldn’t he? He’d had a fun night and his back felt amazing. Sure, waking up on the couch with Johnny Storm passed out right on top of him like a warm, weighted blanket had been slightly awkward if not oddly pleasant, but the massage from the previous night and the perfectly cooked eggs Johnny made him for breakfast more than made up for it. He made a mental note to either thank Johnny again or annoy him less and eventually resolved not to web him to the floor the next time he irritated Peter.

“You seem well today, Peter,” Jay Jameson said as they sat down at the dining table. Peter had momentarily forgotten about the fact that Aunt May was dating Jonah’s dad because his brain allocated only so much memory for all the weird things in his life, possibly as a sanity preservation feature.

“Thanks, Jay. So do you both.”

Aunt May beamed at him, pushing the bowl of fettuccine in his direction. “Jay takes very good care of me, dear.”

Jay looked down at her with a crinkly smile. “We take care of each other.”

“That’s nice,” Peter said neutrally, already backing away from the direction the conversation was heading.

“Speaking of which, how’s everything on that front?” Aunt May asked.

Too late. “What front?” he asked, a delaying tactic at best.

“Are you seeing anyone lately?” Aunt May turned to Jay. “Peter’s always been popular with the ladies.”

Peter choked on an asparagus. “Aunt May, you’re the only person who thinks that.”

“Am I? There were always so many of them coming over when you lived here, except you were almost never around.” She looked at him sternly across the table. “You really have to do something about that, Peter.”

Peter grimaced internally. He supposed he deserved to be called out for disappearing all the time, but it wasn’t as if he often had a choice.

Thankfully, Aunt May seemed to sense his discomfort and changed the subject.

The conversation had meandered into the topic of places to go on a day trip — to which Peter could make very meager contributions, having never been on a proper vacation in his entire adult life — when the phone in his pocket rang. Johnny’s ring tone. Peter sighed and rejected the call.

“Sorry about th—”

Johnny called again and Peter looked at his phone’s display, mildly annoyed.

“Maybe it’s important, dear,” Aunt May said. “It’s all right.”

“Excuse me,” Peter said apologetically and left for the next room. “This better be good,” he said, answering once he was alone.

“I’m sure you didn’t mean to reject my call the first time, so I won’t mention it—”

“But I did and you  _just_  mentioned it.”

Johnny ignored the interruption. “Sue wants to know if you can make it to lunch tomorrow.”

“Why?”

Johnny sighed. “Because Reed wants your help with some biochemistry thing and Sue thinks we should at least feed you first before you get lost in the lab and never come out again.”

“Reed wants my help with a science problem?  _My_  help _?_ ” Peter asked in equal parts disbelief and excitement. “No way.”

“Easy, fanboy,” Johnny drawled. He didn’t seem to share Peter’s enthusiasm. “He said you’re the best bioengineer he knows, so whatever. He’ll probably want to pay you a consultant’s fee again and I suggest you take it.  Anyway, can you?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I can make it. I’ll see you there, right?”

“Do you want to?”

Peter frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Oh. Well—I’ll be here.”

“Great.”

“Great,” Johnny echoed and hung up.

Peter frowned at his phone, surprised by the rather abrupt end to the conversation.

Aunt May looked at him curiously when he returned and he sat back down. “I thought you’d be running out of here again after that phone call.”

Peter added Aunt May to the list of people he should stop doing that to. “Nope,” he said, forcing a smile while mentally kicking himself for being a terrible friend and a terrible nephew and possibly just a terrible human being in general. “I’m here for my best gal and I’m not going anywhere.”

 

+///+

 

Reed’s biochemistry problem hadn’t taken them long to solve together. All he’d really wanted was an enzyme that would enable the unfolding of some alien proteins when exposed to a nitrogen-rich atmosphere like the earth’s. Reed was convinced the proteins could be used as an alternative to highly resistant bacterial strains but didn’t want to risk them contaminating the lab in an activated state while he was experimenting with them.

So they designed an enzyme, reverse-engineered some plasmids, and Reed left them to replicate, pleased.

Peter’s brain felt like his body had after the Sandman fight, except Johnny couldn’t reach into his head and massage  _that_.

“Hey, hot stuff,” Peter said when he found his friend in the garage, where Sue said he’d be. Johnny was working on one of his cars, dressed casually in an old, grease-stained set of jeans and a t-shirt. That  _something_  Peter refused to examine welled up again and he stuffed it somewhere in the back of his mind. “Want a soda?”

Johnny looked up, a smudge of oil on his cheek. Peter resisted the urge to walk over and wipe it off. “Sure—” He broke off, startled by the can flying end over end towards his face and dropped the wrench he was holding to catch it. He stared at it in consternation, realizing that opening it would mean getting a frothy mess all over his clothes and the garage floor.“You suck, Peter.”

Peter sneered. “I can’t believe you didn’t see that coming.”

“I’m thirsty, you asshole.”

“Fine. You can have mine and just give that one to Ben later,” Peter said, handing his own can over.

Johnny hesitated.

“I’ve only taken one sip, come on.”

Johnny accepted it and took a swig. “You and Reed done with whatever it was?”

“Yeah…You know I like him, right? He’s great and working with him is awesome, but man, every time we’re in the same room, I feel like I’m not smart enough to be there.”

Johnny frowned. “Stop that.”

Peter blinked at him, “What?”

“You’re one of the smartest people I know.  _Reed_  thinks you’re smart enough.”

Peter cocked his head.

“There’s no punchline, jerk,” Johnny told him irritably.

“Oh. Well…thanks, I guess.”

“Are you staying for dinner?”

“I meant to get in a few hours of patrol…”

“I’ll come along.”

“What?”

“You and me and an old-fashioned team-up. Then we can come back here for a late meal and a movie.”

“A movie again?”

“I thought you liked movie night.”

“I do,” Peter said quickly. “I just didn’t expect you to want to have it practically every day.”

“You weren’t here yesterday.” Johnny sounded almost sullen and Peter looked at him, puzzled.

“You don’t have to go on patrol with me.”

“I want to,” Johnny said simply. “It’ll be fun.”

 

+///+

 

It wasn’t fun.

It had been boring at first, which Johnny had complained about. Common muggers were no challenge for Peter by himself, much less for the combination of Spider-Man and the Human Torch.

“The Human Torch  _and_  Spider-Man,” Johnny told him, interrupting when he pointed it out to some resisting criminals. “Why do  _you_  get to be first? Let’s go alphabetical.”

Peter rolled his eyes beneath his mask as he webbed a knife to the ground and knocked out its owner with a flick of his finger. A potential gang fight ended, now that all seven of its would-be participants were passed out. Peter hoped their heads would cool off or they’d be too preoccupied with resenting him to pick up where they left when the webs dissolved or the cops found them.

It was the most excitement they’d had so far. So, not fun, just boring. Which, in Peter’s world was actually  _pleasant_. A good night.

Until Jonah’s newest batch of Spider Slayers found them, then it wasn’t even that, either.

 

+///+

 

It took everything Peter had left to swing to the Baxter Building with an exhausted Johnny clinging to his back.

“I hope you know this was your fault,” Johnny said right in his ear.

“Mine? You’re the one who wanted to patrol together. It’ll be fun, you said. Well, it wasn’t!”

“If you hadn’t made Jameson your worst enemy, Spider Slayers wouldn’t even exist!”

“Don’t fool yourself. Jonah hates all of us. If I weren’t around, he’d be picking on someone else. Maybe every corner of New York would be covered with fire extinguishers instead.”

“Sure, Spidey, you’re a hero. Thanks for taking the bullet and saving all superhumans from a crazed  _newspaper publisher_.”

“I can hear you rolling your eyes, Storm. Are you forgetting you can’t fly right now?”

Johnny made a small, wounded noise. “I hate you.”

Peter was quiet for a moment. “So…Movie night’s off, then?”

Johnny’s arms around his shoulders tightened. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You sure you can hang in there?” Peter frowned. “You fell asleep on me the last two times, and that was when you  _hadn’t_  gone nova.”

“I can stay up with the best of ’em.”

“My record is seventy-two hours,” Peter said flatly.

“Okay, one, you shouldn’t be proud of that. And two, you’re insane.”

Peter swung them onto the Baxter Building’s roof. “Exactly. So the moral of the story is—don’t be like me.”

Johnny frowned, looking disappointed as he let go and moved away.

“We just spent four hours together, Johnny,” Peter pointed out.

“I wasn’t aware you had a quota,” he said stiffly.

“You know it’s not like that. I’m beat up and you’re exhausted. We can watch movies any other time.”

“Yeah, until you decide that I shouldn’t know you anymore,” Johnny snapped.

Peter drew back.  _“Johnny.”_

Johnny flushed, wrapping his arms around himself as if he, the Human Torch, were cold. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“You’re  _still_  mad about that. You know—”

 _“I know,”_ Johnny interrupted. “I know why you did it, I get it, okay? Doesn’t change how I feel about it. I don’t even know why it bothers me this much when I’ve gotten over worse, but—” He took a deep, somewhat shaky breath. “Look, just go home. I’ll…I’ll call you when…when I get this under control.”

“How long is  _that_  going to take?”

Johnny gave him an incredulous look and Peter immediately realized that had been the wrong thing to say.  “Goodnight, Peter,” he said firmly, turning around and heading for the rooftop elevator without another word.

The swing home felt a thousand miles long.

 

+///+

 

It was weird going from unexpectedly so much Johnny to no Johnny at all. Peter was used to long spells of silence between them, so it was even weirder to be bothered by it now. Then again, they’d never deliberately stopped talking, and they’d certainly never had a fight that felt  _real_. Sure, they’d squabbled a lot as teens, but none of them clawed as deeply into him as this.

Johnny also usually wasn’t one to hold grudges or prolong arguments. He’d always been the type to let his anger run fast and hot and burned through it quickly. He’d yell at Peter or set his boots on fire or execute exactly one dramatic exit before forgetting all about it and being back to normal the next day.

Peter wanted to call him. He thought of how Johnny had looked, huddled into himself that night on the rooftop, and felt a weight on his chest.  Implicit in Johnny telling him he’d call when he was ready was a warning for Peter not to contact him until then. But it had been five days since and Peter was starting to worry that whatever damage he’d done was going to be irreparable.

So, when the familiar ring tone sounded from his phone that afternoon, Peter scrambled to answer it so fast, he dropped his donut in the middle of the street.

“Jo—”

“Central Park,” he interrupted.

“What?”

“Central Park,” Johnny repeated. “I need Spider-Man.  _Now_ , Peter.”

Spider-Man. Of course. Probably some kind of villain attack. Peter sighed, pocketed his phone, and hurried to find somewhere to change.

He arrived in Central Park in less than five minutes to find a harried Johnny struggling to herd a bunch of escaped zoo animals. He was using carefully controlled jets of flame to keep them from getting loose all over the park, while people milled about in the vicinity.

People who were stupid enough to hang around and take videos while snow leopards and bears circled each other out in the open ranked low on the list of people who deserved to be saved, but they  _were_  still on the list.

Peter sighed. It was just going to be one of  _those_  days. Some villain was probably behind it since the whole incident screamed “distraction”, though that was a problem for another time. He somersaulted right into the fray, webbing assorted sharp, extend claws into blunted, harmless appendages.

Johnny looked relieved to see him but Peter didn’t have the time to focus on him. He had to get the animals under control before they hurt themselves or anything (anyone) else. Not that it took him long to subdue them at all.  Within two minutes, all of the more dangerous ones had been carefully webbed up, and the smaller animals were being collected by handlers.

“The webbing will dissolve in an hour,” Peter told a stressed zoo employee. “So just leave it. Trying to pull it off will only hurt them and the webs themselves are harmless and completely non-toxic. Do you want me to put the bears back?”

 

+///+

 

Peter had more experience than he liked picking up bears and various other kinds of wildlife, so that didn’t take long, either. Part of him wanted to rush back and find Johnny, while the rest of him was afraid of what might happen and wanted to run away.  He stopped to say hi to the red pandas that had remained inside their habitat the entire time while he tried to make up his mind, but then the choice was made for him when Johnny found him there.

“Thanks for coming to help,” Johnny said from several yards away, standing a bit stiffly with his hands in his pockets.

“You called me.”

Johnny rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. Reed and Sue took the kids out for some bonding time and Ben doesn’t exactly have the right set of skills for handling animals without hurting them, so...”

“So you called me.”

“I called Spider-Man.”

The reason for the distinction wasn’t lost on him. It hurt more than he thought it would. “I wouldn’t drop everything for just anyone so you’re lucky I wasn’t busy.”

Johnny flushed, knowing full well that Peter had in fact dropped everything just for him. “Listen—”

“Johnny?”

They both turned to look at a woman who had appeared behind them. She was pretty and vaguely familiar in the way that Johnny’s dates usually were, having been on a poster or a billboard or even in a commercial at least once. She glanced at Peter before completely dismissing him and focusing on Johnny alone.

“Is everything okay now?” she asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine.”

“Do you think we could get back to our  _date_? We have a reservation for dinner and I don’t want to lose it.” she reminded him.

Johnny turned even redder, looking at Peter out of the corner of his eye. “Sure. Um. Thanks for coming to help, Spidey.”

“You already said that,” Peter said coolly.

“I’ll…I’ll call you soon, okay?”

Peter wasn’t sure how to answer and ran back into the trees without saying another word.

 

+///+

 

“Pizza delivery.”

Peter nearly fell off his perch on the edge of a random skyscraper at the sound of that familiar but unexpected voice. He blinked furiously beneath his mask, unsure if he was hallucinating. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Johnny Storm frowned, dropping the last few inches, a box of pizza held negligently in one hand. “I’m not?”

“You have a date.”

“I  _had_  a date. It’s done.”

Peter stared at him, doubtful.

“Just take the damn pizza.”

He took the box but didn’t open it.

“Are you going to complain about it being the wrong kind again? Because if you are—”

“I’m not.” He shifted from his customary squat to a normal sitting position, his legs dangling over the side, and put the box safely behind him. “Thanks, I guess.”

Johnny sat down next to him. “You’re welcome, I guess,” Johnny said mockingly, though he was smiling faintly at the same time.

Peter didn’t smile back, not yet. “Look, Johnny. I don’t know what else I should say—”

“You don’t need to apologize again, okay?” Johnny said, cutting him off. “I was a jerk.”

“You kinda were. But then  _I_  kinda was,” Peter admitted.

“Guess that means we deserve each other, huh?” Johnny said lightly, reaching behind him to fetch a slice of pizza.

Peter did the same. “So how was your date?” he asked idly, mask folded up to his nose and a heavenly bite of pizza in him.

Johnny made a face. “Don’t talk when your mouth is full. And my date lasted all of ten minutes.”

“That has to be a record. So what was wrong with them?”

“We had a difference of opinion.”

“A date-ending difference?” Peter whistled. “Must have been a doozy.”

Johnny shrugged but didn’t offer anything else.

Peter finished his first slice and picked up another. “And you decided to come looking for me. What am I, like, your back-up date? Because now I feel all  _special_.”

Johnny looked at him directly, his eyes still intensely blue, even in the dark. “Wanna be my main date instead?” he asked, voice dropping a whole octave.

Peter blinked. He’s used to Johnny messing around but sometimes still got caught off-guard. He cleared his throat, deciding that ignoring the comment completely was a better idea than playing into it. “How did you find me, anyway?”

“I followed my Spider-Man sense,” Johnny said.

“Don’t make me shove you off the building.”

“You’re not hard to find for someone who can fly,” Johnny said.

Peter hummed, not sure what to say to that, and pretended to take Johnny’s advice about not talking while his mouth was full.  They managed a full ten minutes of silence that way, with Peter just continuously cramming pizza into his face.

Johnny looked faintly disgusted. “You’re gross.”

Peter swallowed the last mouthful and burped.

Johnny groaned, which made Peter laugh.  He picked up the empty pizza box and incinerated it on the spot.  “Did you really drop everything just to come help me?”

“I dropped a donut,” Peter said, forlorn.

Johnny bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Close enough. So.  Movie night back on?”

Peter looked out at the city.  Everything was fine.  Maybe everything was even  _good_.  “Patrol first.  _Then_  movie night.”

“Pizza, patrol, and a movie.  Yeah, this is definitely main date material, Parker. I’m calling this date night from now on.”

“As long as you don’t ditch me and leave me with a restaurant bill, Storm, you can call it whatever you want.”

 

+///+

 

“No, trust me, you don’t want to die by anaconda the way they do it in the movies, Johnny. It would be terrible.”

Johnny frowned up at Peter from his position, stretched out on the FF’s living room couch with his head on a pillow placed in Peter’s lap. “It’s gotta be better than being eaten by a shark.” He pointed at the TV. “Look at them screaming in pain!”

“You wouldn’t actually feel anything. The brain tends to shut out pain in the face of—”

“Oh, God. No. Don’t  _science_  it.”

“Look, in real life, maybe the anaconda route is better since it would crush you first and you’d pass out and not feel anything. But like the movies? You’d drown in snake spit if you’re lucky or be melted slowly by enzymes if you’re not.

“You are  _actually_ vile.”

“You’re the one who brought it up!” Peter protested.

“Absolutely disgusting.”

Peter picked up another pillow. “You know, being smothered to death is supposed to be painless.”

Johnny raised his hands and the next few minutes passed in a furious grappling war for the pillow, during which Peter got poked in the ribs far too many times.  Johnny’s elbow dug into his stomach next. It tickled more than anything, but it made Peter give up any pretense of playing fair. He scooped Johnny out of his lap and tipped him, face-first, onto the floor.

“ _Ow._  That wasn’t allowed!” Johnny complained from his new place on the carpet.

“Show me the rule book.”

Johnny picked himself up, grumbling, and settled back into his old place, making sure to land extra hard.

Peter grunted and Johnny smiled smugly up at him.  Johnny’s cheeks were rosy from the play-fighting and his hair was a mess.  His eyes sparkled with laughter, and Peter suddenly felt something like a punch in the gut.  There was a lock of golden hair on Johnny’s brow and Peter reached down almost absently to brush it away.

Johnny’s answering smile was soft before he turned back to the TV, just in time to see someone lose a leg. “Urgh,” he said in disgust.

Peter laughed, his hand still in Johnny’s hair. Johnny didn’t seem to mind it, so Peter just kept it there.

 

+///+

 

In the time that followed, movie nights changed from something that happened whenever Johnny could find him and drag him back to the Baxter Building or Peter’s own place, and turned into a regular event that happened twice a week.

Johnny always queued up two movies, since they could never decide on just one, but he almost always fell asleep at some point during the second, which Peter secretly found both adorable and trying. Because Johnny almost always passed out  _on_  Peter—either in his lap or on his shoulder—and apparently spider strength could do nothing to keep his arm or his legs from falling asleep under Johnny’s unmoving weight.

But the Human Torch was always just the right amount of warm, and even though Peter felt like he should be annoyed by his unconscious clinginess, plastering himself to Peter’s side and even occasionally hugging him around the waist, he found himself not bothered all that much. Maybe he even  _liked_  it. Just a little. Okay, a lot.

He wondered how Johnny felt about it, on the few times he woke up before Peter left and he’d realize what he’d done (what Peter had let him do) while asleep. But he never said anything or acted like anything was weird, often just going right back to sleep after snuggling in even closer.

And Sue kept walking in on them. Peter discovered that she had an early-morning tea addiction after she had yawned past them in the living room to get to the kitchen one too many times. She never said anything, either. She’d glance over, occasionally meeting Peter’s stare, and stumble on.

But finding Johnny draped all over Peter like a comforter seemed to be the last straw. She stared down at him, with the full weight of Johnny’s body above him, and sighed.

“Sue—“

“Push my brother off you and come to the kitchen,” she said, and walked away.

Peter knew better than to argue with Susan Storm so he gently peeled Johnny off him, laid him back down on the couch, and followed Sue.

There was a mug of tea waiting for him when he got there. He wasn’t really a tea person but he wasn’t about to complain to Sue’s face. He sat down in the chair in front of it and waited for her to say something.

“First of all,” Sue began, “this isn’t the shovel talk, even if it might sound like it at some point. Because I’m actually concerned about the both of you.”

Peter’s mind was gone the instant the words “shovel talk” left her mouth. Shovel talk. Why the hell was Sue winding up for a shovel talk?

“I know you and Johnny are really close, but have the two of you actually thought this through?”

Peter stared at her blankly. “Thought what through?”

“Dating each other.”

Peter’s mouth fell open. He shut it, but it dropped open again. “I’m not dating Johnny,” he said, finding his words at last.

Sue quirked an eyebrow. “What arrangement do you have then? Because I never figured you to be the type of person who’d get casually involved with their best friend. Johnny, maybe, since he’s all impulses. But you?”

“Sue.”

“Not that I’m judging. You’re consenting adults, so it’s fine. But I’m just worried this might...end badly.”

“ _Sue_ , oh my God. I think we have our wires crossed here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t have that kind of relationship with Johnny. We’re friends. We’re _still_ just...friends.”

Sue looked incredulous. “Peter, the number of times I’ve walked in on you all tangled up in each other—”

“He falls asleep! He insists on watching two movies every time even though he knows he can’t stay awake for both. He falls asleep and that’s when he turns into a fucking octopus and gets all over me!”

“And you let him.”

“I—” Peter let out a defeated sigh. “Fine. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Sue took a sip from her mug. “It doesn’t?”

Peter knew it was a lie. Susan, too, apparently. It meant _something_ to Peter. Whatever it was and if it meant the same thing to Johnny was less clear.

Of course, Johnny chose the very next moment to stumble in, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “Pete. What are you doing here?”

“I asked him to have some tea with me, Johnny,” Sue answered.

Johnny frowned at her as if noticing her for the first time. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Peter lied. “Go back to sleep, Torch.”

Johnny yawned. “ _You_ come back to sleep. It’s too early for you to leave yet. We still have half a movie to miss.”

“Johnny.”

_“Peter.”_

Peter glanced at Sue, who looked like she was trying really hard not to laugh. “Fine. I’ll be right there. Just go already.”

Johnny gave his sister a suspicious look but turned around without any further argument and disappeared.

Sue smirked.

“I’m not dating him,” Peter told Sue, more firmly.

“Oh, I believe you, Peter. You’re not dating my little brother. You’re just sleeping with him.”

Peter chose not to dignify that with a response and started to leave.

“Peter.”

He paused.

“I feel I should tell you. Johnny isn’t normally the patient type, but for you, he’s stretched to the limit. I wouldn’t take much longer to make a move.”

“I have literally _no_ idea what you’re talking about,” Peter said truthfully and walked away before she could say anything else.

Johnny was staring blearily at the TV screen, where Peter had paused their second movie after Johnny fell asleep, when Peter came back.

“What did she want?” Johnny asked when Peter sat down next to him.

“I don’t know. By the way, your sister scares me.”

Johnny snorted. “I know. Can we go back to sleep now?”

Peter felt the blush creeping up his cheeks as he thought of what Sue had said and hoped Johnny wouldn’t notice. She was wrong, he thought sourly. He wasn’t sleeping with Johnny because Peter never actually slept.

Johnny resumed the movie — one that had a giant alligator in it — and casually threw an arm around Peter’s neck. “Hey, I think you fought this guy.”

“That was the Lizard, Johnny.”

Johnny hummed, his arm sliding down Peter’s back and falling to his waist. Johnny bumped his head against Peter’s shoulder and rested it there. Even though he was wide awake, even though there were pillows _right_ _there,_ as if it was just where his head belonged now.

Peter found himself wishing it did.

 

+///+

 

The weird conversation with Sue changed things that Peter wished it hadn’t.  He became so much more aware of Johnny. He’d already been in trouble long before Sue said anything, but it was even worse now. Every touch, every brush of skin, and every breath on his neck sent jolts of static right up his spine. It was maddening, and Peter had no idea how to stop it apart from staying away from Johnny forever — and there was no way he was going to do _that_. It made every movie night a test of Peter’s will and self-restraint, just to keep himself from crossing all of the vaguely defined lines between them.

The current night was no different, with Johnny fading away a third of the way into The Fly, despite having made fun of Peter only minutes before. Because how close  _had_  he been to being  _Fly-Man_  instead of Spider-Man, Johnny wondered. It must have been sheer luck. He also could have been Mosquito-Man and  _that_  had sent Johnny into brand new fits at the thought that he could have had  _so many_  ways to make fun of Peter’s powers.

Peter had let him laugh himself into exhaustion, even though he’d known he would pay for it later.

And pay he did.  Johnny fell asleep as expected, slumped boneless against his side, and Peter’s arm slowly grew numb from the shoulder down to the tips of his fingers. Johnny’s hair also kept brushing against his cheek and making his nose itch, and the guy was  _definitely_  drooling on Peter’s shirt again. Peter looked down at him, wide mouth parted and lightly tanned skin seeming to glow, and felt a peculiar tightness in his chest, as if his heart were threatening to expand beyond his rib cage, robbing space from his lungs and making it difficult to breathe.

Johnny’s head drooped forward, his entire posture threatening to make him face-plant onto Peter’s lap, and Peter sighed, pushing his head back firmly on his shoulder, shifting his arm so that instead of being squashed under Johnny’s weight, it was draped lightly across his back.

Johnny’s head started to slide down again, and this time Peter moved the arm behind his back upward to gently cradle the back of Johnny’s head and guide it back to Peter’s shoulder.

A sigh issued from between Johnny’s lips, and Peter hoped he hadn’t imagined how it sounded more content than anything. He peered down at Johnny’s face again and hesitated.

 _What the heck,_  Peter thought. Johnny’s mouth was practically on his neck, he shouldn’t have any right to complain if he woke up with Peter’s face in his hair. He gave in, tilted his head down and laid his cheek on top of Johnny’s slumbering head. Peter could hear him breathing and inhaled the scent of him — the smell of sun-warmed skin, expensive designer cologne, and some sort of herby shampoo. He closed his eyes and finally, without really meaning to, fell asleep.

 

+///+

 

Peter woke up to the sound of his name and someone gently stroking the side of his face. Slowly, and with great difficulty, he pried his eyes open.

“Hey,” Johnny said softly, blue eyes meeting Peter’s brown. “There you are.”

He reached up and caught the fingers brushing against his cheek. “Nguh?”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Eloquent.” He pulled his hand free from Peter’s. “I can’t believe I finally got you to fall asleep.”

Peter blinked at him. “What?” His voice sounded husky with sleep. “That was a goal?”

“The goal was to get you to relax, which is pretty much the same thing.” Johnny ducked out from under Peter’s arm and glanced at the TV. The movie was still playing, although it seemed close to being over. “Want to move this somewhere more comfortable?”

Peter looked at him, confused. “Move what where?”

“Movie night. I have a TV in my room. If we’re both going to pass out again, we may as well be comfy.”

Peter’s brain came to a screeching halt. Move to Johnny’s room. Pass out on Johnny’s bed. When he was well aware that Johnny turned into a warm clingy octopus when he slept. There was no way that wasn’t going to kill him.

“Peter,” Johnny said, and was he imagining Johnny’s voice going several notes deeper than usual? Or what about the fact that Johnny seemed to be staring at his mouth?

“I gotta go,” he heard himself say.

“What?”

“I—I just remembered I have— _things_  to do,” Peter said, grabbing his phone from the coffee table.

“O-Okay,” Johnny said, surprised and uncertain. “Next movie night then?” He sounded almost afraid Peter would say no, and Peter had to tamp down the hysterical laughter that wanted to bubble out of him. As if he would ever have the self-control to turn Johnny down.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you then.” Peter stepped up to him, meaning to give him a pat on the back.

He definitely didn’t mean to kiss him.

It was instinct, he told himself later. When you’re about to leave your date, you lean in and kiss them goodbye. It was barely anything, a casual gesture — a quick kiss, a press of lips on lips, a mere split second long. It was over before Peter’s brain could even register what his body was doing.

Then it hit him. It also hit Johnny at the same time, his eyes going comically wide.

 _“Pete.”_ His voice sounded strained and unnaturally high. “Pete, did you just—”

_Oh, shit._

Johnny made a grab for his hand but he was too fast. People always forgot that.

“I’m sorry,” he said from the nearest window. “I didn’t mean—”

“Peter, don’t—”

He took his mask out of his jeans pocket and pulled it onto his head. “I have to go. I have to get away from you.”

Johnny had been moving towards him until that second sentence. He froze, a hurt expression on his face.

Peter didn’t have time to think about it. He didn’t want to. The window opened easily to the work of his deft fingers and Spider-Man flung himself out of the opening the next second, webshooter hissing as he shot off a line. He half-expected the Human Torch to follow, and couldn’t decide if he should feel relieved or disappointed when he didn’t.

 

+///+

 

Peter was at a complete loss. He’d survived hundred-foot free falls, acid baths, having secret underwater labs collapse on top of him, explosions, even his own clone trying to rip his head off.  But what was he supposed to do after _accidentally_  kissing his best friend? Never mind that he also wanted to _intentionally_ kiss his best friend.

“What’s on your mind Pete?” Harry Osborn asked when he wandered into the Coffee Bean the next day, grumpy and preoccupied.

Peter glanced up at at him, who had abandoned his post behind the counter to one of his employees so he could sit with Peter near the back of the café.  He hadn’t consciously sought out Harry, hadn’t even expected him to be in, but Peter realized his body had led him there, to his  _other_  best friend, for a reason.  “Har.  I’ve been…thinking.”

“Oh, boy,” Harry said with a smile. “What is it now? Wait—Don’t answer that.  Knowing you, it’s probably girl trouble.”

“It’s not.”

“You never think it is.”

“There are no girls involved in this situation.”

“Okay, then. “Boy trouble?”

Peter sighed and dropped his head onto the table, making his cup of cappuccino rattle in its saucer. “What makes you think it’s about my love life, Harry?”

“It’s always about your love life somehow, Pete. You love a lot of people.  Sometimes it feels like you’re in love with the whole city.” Harry gave him a pat on the head that was both comforting and patronizing at the same time.  “Tell you what. I’ll clock out for a bit and we’ll go to my apartment and you can tell me all about it, all right?”

 

+///+

 

“I really don’t think you need more coffee,” Harry sighed, reluctantly handing over Peter’s requested drink before joining him on the sofa.  “You look like you haven’t slept in a week. But since you always look like that, I’m just going to assume you haven’t slept in  _years_.”

Peter rubbed his jaw.  He hadn’t had time to shave since yesterday and the growing stubble itched.  “That bad, huh?”

Harry leaned back and stretched one arm along the back of the sofa, his fingertips grazing Peter’s shoulder. “Come on.  Out with it. Tell Uncle Harry all about it.”

Peter drew a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, Harry. How about I run a hypothetical scenario past you?”

“Hit me.”

Peter drew in a deep breath. “Let’s say...let’s say you have this friend. This really close friend you’ve known for, like, a decade or whatever. A lot of years, okay?”

Harry nodded.

“And you’ve both been through so much and a lot of it together and you probably don’t have normal boundaries anymore.”

“Okay...”

“One day he just...puts his head on your lap and just sleeps there. And he keeps doing it and other things, and he drools on your fucking shoulder when he passes out, which should be annoying, except it’s not? And he suddenly wants to be around all the time. Like,  _all_  the time.  I mean, that’s...fine, right? For friends?” he asked.

“Are you supposed to be the friend in this hypothetical situation or is it supposed to be your actual friend?”

“What difference does it make? It’s hypothetical!”

“Different people have different boundaries for their relationships, Pete. I can’t tell you what’s normal for friends to do.”

“The point is, it’s not something that used to happen. And it’s really confusing because it makes you feel...things. Weird. It makes you feel weird. Is it just because of the things they do? If you could somehow make them stop...?”

Harry moved closer and suddenly dropped his head onto Peter’s shoulder.  “Okay.”

“What are you doing?”

“Ssh,” Harry said, patting the back of his head. “Just sit quietly for a minute.”

Peter was starting to think Harry was the wrong person to ask advice from.

“How does this make you feel, Pete?”

“Weird.”

“Hm.” Harry reached over, plucked Peter’s mug out of his hands, and set his head down on Peter’s lap.  “And this?”

“Weirder.”

“Is it the same kind of weird or different from when this other guy does it?”

“It’s a hypothetical situation, Harry,” Peter reiterated through gritted teeth.

“Right, and I’m asking, hypothetically, if you’d let all your friends do the same.”

“I don’t— I don’t know.”

“If I drool on you right now, what would you do?”

“Push you to the floor, Harry.”

“Did you push  _them_  to the floor?”

“They were asleep and not in control of themselves!”

Harry smirked up at him. “Hypothetical, huh?”

Peter’s face burned. “Can you get up now?”

“I don’t know. You have really firm thighs, Pete. I’m starting to see the appeal.”

_“Harry.”_

Harry sat up. “What did you end up doing if you didn’t push them away?”

Peter buried his face in his hands.

“Peter.”

“I kissed them,” he mumbled. “Oh, God. I kissed my best friend.”

There was a pause. “I’m pretty sure we didn’t… Or we  _haven’t_  yet…?”

“Not you,” Peter groaned. He lowered his hands and sank deeper into the sofa.

“You have another best friend?” Harry asked, sounding offended.  “Wait—This isn’t about  _Flash_ , is it?”

_“No.”_

“Well, that’s just—how many best friends do you have?”

Peter was messing up. His brain was so scrambled, he couldn’t even control his fucking mouth.  “Just you, okay? And one…other guy. Who probably hates me now.”

“Anyone I know?”

Peter shrugged.  Technically, everyone knew the Human Torch.

Harry sighed. “Look, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. But let me give you one piece of advice, okay?  Just one.”

Peter looked at him, desperate.  “I’ll take anything, Har.”

“Okay. I know you like to live on your little island of denial, but I think you’re way past the stage of stopping how you and this...other guy feel about each other—”

Peter opened his mouth.

“Shut up,” Harry said before he could say anything. “You can’t tell when people are genuinely flirting with you even when they’re flinging themselves at your feet.  For a genius, you’re all kinds of stupid. But the point is — that shouldn’t be your problem right now.”

“It shouldn’t?”

“Look. You already kissed them. You’ve crossed the line. It’s a bit late to be thinking about how to stop it. But I think it’s about time you start examining those feelings more closely.”

Start examining how he felt.  So much of his life so far had been devoted to doing the exact opposite of that.  He swallowed. “I guess…I could try?”

“Promise me.”

“…I promise.”

Harry squeezed his shoulder. “Great. We got all that cleared up. Can I laugh at you now? Because this is just  _classic_ , Parker.”

Peter shoved him but otherwise let him laugh, already too preoccupied with his own thoughts.

Harry had implied that Johnny must have been flirting with him, and Peter’s first instinct had been to laugh at the very idea and dismiss it.  But all of a sudden, all he could think about was Johnny, sitting next to him atop a skyscraper and asking, _“Wanna be my main date?”_ in a voice that was not meant for joking, that had _never_ been meant for joking.

And Peter had pretty much told him _yes_.  _That_ had been a joke, in response to another perceived joke, but the more Peter examined every interaction he’d had with Johnny in the past few weeks, the more he found that everything would take on an entirely different meaning if that yes were to be taken seriously.

He leaned back against the sofa and stared at the ceiling, resisting the urge to laugh because he’d probably end up crying instead.  When had the world stopped making sense? he wondered. Had it been that time after the bears? Or had it been long before that?

 

+///+

 

Peter swung over to the Baxter Building on Saturday night, a movie night, nervous as hell.  He hoped Johnny was in because he wasn’t sure he could ever find the nerve to do this again.  He went to his customary window outside Johnny’s room and knocked. He counted down to a minute in his head and knocked again, even louder, and leaned his head against the glass.  “Come on, Johnny,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

He was just about to give up, having counted past another minute, when the window next to where he was stuck opened.

Peter’s eyes flew open and he found himself looking at a half-dressed Johnny, hair damp and chest bare, with a towel wrapped around his waist.  The universe, Peter decided, glad that his mask could conceal the way his eyes lingered on the water droplets on Johnny’s abs, must want him dead.

“I was in the shower,” Johnny explained needlessly.  “Spidey, why are you here?”

“Movie night, remember?” he said, dropping to the floor just inside.  “Or have I been uninvited?”

“Never,” Johnny said immediately. “I just…I just thought…I thought I scared you away.”

Johnny thought  _what?_

Johnny looked down at himself. “Give me a minute, okay?”

Peter nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and let Johnny disappear into his closet.

Johnny came back out in tight black jeans and a blue t-shirt, rubbing the towel over his head.  He caught sight of Peter standing in the middle of his room and bit his lip thoughtfully.  Finally, he tossed his towel carelessly to one side and straightened his back. “Take off your mask, Peter.”

Peter slowly pulled it off and met his gaze.  “Johnny.”

Johnny wrapped his arms around himself again, like he had when they fought on top of the Baxter Building.  “Peter, what happened the other night?”

Peter forced the words past the lump in his throat. “I kissed you,” he said, holding up a hand slightly and inching slowly forward. “I hadn’t meant to at the time.”

“You kissed me then ran away,” Johnny said without emotion.  “Was it that bad?”

There was that hysterical laughter again, threatening to spill out of his mouth. “I couldn’t— It was less than a second, Johnny.”

Johnny started to move forward himself, eyes half-lidded, measuring, but also  _burning_.  “So you’re saying you need more time to judge.”

“I—What?”

“Okay. We can do that.” Johnny stopped, less than arm’s breadth away. “How much do you need?”

 _“God,”_  Peter managed to say before Johnny grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him forward, crashing into a real kiss he never dreamed would actually happen.  Peter’s mind stopped working entirely, leaving him little more than a bundle of impulses, responding and returning and asking for more.

And Johnny was giving as good as he was getting, moaning as Peter licked into his mouth, his hand on Peter’s neck tightening while the other slowly slid up Peter’s chest to finally clutch at his shoulder.

They broke apart reluctantly, panting into each other’s mouths, staying so close that their noses brushed.

“Was that enough?” Johnny whispered.

This time, Peter  _did_  laugh.  “Enough for me to know that I want to do it again.”

Slowly, like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard at first, Johnny smiled.  “I seriously thought we were going to watch monster movies all the way to the nineties before you made a move, man,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over Peter’s as he spoke. “And the nineties _sucked_ for monster movies.”

Johnny wanted this. Peter’s heart soared with the realization. Johnny had wanted this for  _so long_.  “Maybe you should have, I don’t know, _said_ something,” Peter told him ruefully.

“But I  _did_. I was practically flashing neon lights, oh my God. You were just  _dense_.”

“ _When_  did you ever say anything?” Peter frowned, pulling back just enough to look at his face.  “A lot of it just sounded like you making fun of me like you always do.”

Johnny rolled his eyes and touched Peter’s face, fingertips stroking his jaw. “A dozen times, Peter.  In a dozen ways.  But the first time? The first time was that night on the Chrysler Building. When I said you took what was mine and I wanted it back.”

Peter frowned, “I don’t get it.”

“Of course you don’t,” Johnny said, exasperation tinged with fondness. His hand cupped Peter’s jaw more firmly. “ _This_  was mine,” he said, looking Peter in the eye. “You. My memories about us. Like the fact that you were a kid I knew when he was fifteen and skinny and annoying. That time when you took off your mask and showed me who you were.  All of my silly daydreams of kissing your stupid mouth after I found out. They were  _mine_ , Peter. You took them away and it hurt and I  _hated_  you for it, just a little.”

Peter closed his eyes, reeling. “How?  How could I not have noticed?”

Johnny let out a sharp laugh. “Because you’re blind?  Seriously, I thought you would when that picture of the two of us came out and I saw my own face.”

“What?” He frowned. “You said you hated it.”

“Yeah, because I was looking at you like a smitten sixteen-year-old girl would.”

“Were you?”

“And you said I looked no different than usual and I realized that I probably look at you like a smitten sixteen-year-old girl would  _all the damn time_  and it was  _embarrassing_.”

“But that day at the zoo.  You went out with some lady—”

Johnny groaned.  “I was being petty.  Plus I wanted to see if I could drown out how I felt about you because it seemed like you would never feel the same way.” He leaned his forehead against Peter’s own. “I told you it ended early and I gave you a vague reason, remember?”

“I remember.”

“Ask me why again, Peter.”

“Why?”

“Because she went off about how  _awful_  Spider-Man was, typical Bugle bullshit, and how I shouldn’t be friends with such a menace and I just…blew up.”

“What does that mean, you blew up?” Peter asked warily.

“Not  _literally_.  But I got angry and walked out.  Then I had to find you because I didn’t care anymore. Maybe you’d never want me the same way but I couldn’t stop myself.  Even if I couldn’t have you, I could still be your best friend.”

Peter couldn’t help it. He put one hand on Johnny’s waist, the other in Johnny’s damp, tangled hair, and kissed him again, putting everything he could into it, feeling like he was throwing himself off the edge of a cliff and hitting terminal velocity in zero seconds flat.  He slid the hand on Johnny’s waist under his shirt, feeling his warm skin, the hard planes of his stomach, and lightly brushed that blond trail he’d seen earlier, when Johnny had opened the window to let him in.

Johnny pulled back after several long moments, breathless and blushing, eyes just a little out of focus. “You should know,” he began loftily, the effect somewhat ruined by his hair—tousled further by Peter’s relentless fingers—and his wet, swollen lips. “I don’t  _normally_  put out on the first date.”

“We’ve been on ten if you don’t count the time Valeria and Franklin talked us into watching like a thousand episodes of their favorite cartoon with them.”

“ _None_  of them count because it turns out you’re a doofus who didn’t even realize what they were.”

“Yeah, because the  _asshole_  who kept asking me out to them didn’t let me know.”

“Pizza and a  _movie_.  Just the two of us and  _cuddling_!  I _literally_ said I was going to start calling it date night.  What the fuck did you think we were doing?”

“Hanging out as buddies?”

“ _Dude_ , I want to know what kind of buddies you have.”

“Bros can cuddle non-romantically,” Peter objected.

Johnny leveled him with a look. “Peter, I know. But considering you spent the majority of the time we were supposed to be watching movies watching _me_ and freaking out internally every time I touched you, I’m going to go ahead and say that puts us squarely in the ‘it definitely _wasn’t_ non-romantic’ camp.”

Peter gaped at him. “How do you know about the internal freaking out?”

“When you don’t move a muscle and barely even breathe for five minutes, it’s kind of a dead giveaway. And yeah, I noticed that because I’m a lot better at pretending I’m watching the movie than you are, apparently.”

Peter let out a strangled laugh. He pressed his face into the side of Johnny’s head and groaned. “You were _too_ good, jackass. I thought, hey, maybe Johnny just gets  _really_  affectionate past a certain point in his friendships.  I probably should have asked Wyatt—”

“Oh my God. If you had asked Wyatt, he would have sat me down for a talk and you would be dead because I’d have killed you,” Johnny said, sliding his arms around Peter’s neck and knocking their heads together. “Pete. I love you, but  _God_ , you’re an  _idiot_.”

 _I love you._   Peter’s brain short-circuited for the second time that day.

Johnny’s eyes widened when he realized what he’d just said and nervously studied Peter’s face. “Peter.  Peter, don’t overthink this,” he said softly.  “I can’t take you running out on me again.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said thickly.

Johnny swallowed, and when he spoke, it sounded like he had a lump of his own in his throat.  “Good.  Because you’ve been driving me crazy for  _weeks_ and if you make me wait any longer, I swear—”

Whatever threat Johnny had been about to deliver, Peter smothered them with another kiss, pouring all his pent-up desire, stoked to an unbearable heat by so much time spent in close proximity with Johnny, into it.  He felt Johnny’s fingers twist in his hair, his other hand clenched around Peter’s bicep, nails biting into his skin.  Johnny felt just as desperate, meeting each thrust of Peter’s tongue with his own, moaning into him.

“Okay,” Johnny breathed when Peter broke off to kiss a trail down his neck.  “Okay, fine. Those ten movie nights  _definitely_  counted _._ ”

“You sure?” Peter teased, nuzzling at Johnny’s earlobe. “Don’t want to rush things here. Might be good to take it slow.”

“Peter, our pace has been goddamn glacial.  _Fuck_ that. Bed.  _Now._ ”

“Now,” Peter agreed, picking Johnny up without warning and tossing him there.

Johnny landed with a startled “Oof!” and his eyes burned.  For a moment, Peter considered apologizing for being rough, but then he realized that it wasn’t rage he was seeing in them but lust.

Johnny fell back, watching him with hooded eyes as he stripped off his gloves and the top of his suit. His gaze latched on the webshooters on his wrists and Peter raised an eyebrow.

“Do you want the webs, Johnny?” he asked slowly.

Johnny looked up at him, pupils completely blown, and swallowed. “Yes. But no. Not—Not right now. I need— I want to touch you. Unless  _you_  want them…?”

Peter laughed and lowered himself on top of Johnny. “We can have fun with them some other time,” he murmured by his ear. “It’s not like I need them to hold your arms down if I want to.”

Johnny’s entire body suddenly bucked under him, as if a current of electricity had just passed through it. “Oh God. I’m wearing way too many clothes.”

Peter waggled his eyebrows.

“No. Don’t you—”

The sound of tearing cloth filled the room as Peter ripped through Johnny’s shirt as if it were made of wet paper.

“That was one of my favorite t-shirts!”

“That means you probably have three more of it in the closet.”

“I hate that you know me that well.”

Peter put his hands on Johnny’s pants, thumb idly rubbing across the top button. “How many more of these jeans do you own?”

“Two,” Johnny said in resignation, and the word had barely left his lips before Peter tore the garment off his body, too. “I hate everything about you,” he said thickly.

“Do you?” Peter asked, glancing pointedly down, where Johnny’s tight black boxers hid next to nothing, including how he really felt.

“I would,” Johnny insisted. “If that wasn’t so inexplicably hot.”

“Inexplicably,” Peter echoed, letting Johnny pull him back down for another kiss.

“You know, you haven’t actually done anything to be so smug about,” Johnny mumbled against his mouth.

“And yet you’re already so hard,” Peter smirked.

“Shut up and do something.”

“You mean like this—?” Peter asked, rolling his hips and bearing Johnny deep into the mattress.

A deep red bloomed on Johnny’s face even as his legs parted instinctively, making room for Peter to settle between them. He drew in a breath with a hiss as Peter rolled his hips again.

“You’re perfect,” Peter murmured, admiring the way Johnny’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down his throat as he swallowed back a groan of pleasure.

Johnny’s hands gripped the side of Peter’s hips, keeping him from pulling away before lifting his legs, heels resting on the small of Peter’s back. His eyes were bright and wild, teeth biting down on his lower lip. And it was all Peter needed, pushing against him even harder than before, starting up a relentless grind. His own erection, trapped within the confines of his suit, was painfully hard, but it was worth it just to see Johnny slowly growing more frenzied with impatience and writhing beneath him.

 _“Fuck,”_  Johnny swore, back arching and hands clenching tighter on Peter’s hips, the friction and the motion almost close to being too much. “I should—should have known you’d—be a fucking tease, Peter,” he managed between shallow gasps.

“Tell me what you want,” Peter said, surprised by the sound of his own voice, deep and hoarse with desire.

“Anything,” Johnny said, looking right at him, one hand curling around the back of Peter’s neck. “I want anything you can give me, Pete.  _Please._ ”

Peter slid off him, ignoring his noise of complaint, and lay on the bed on his left side, body flush against Johnny’s. “Since you asked so nicely,” he said, and slid one hand inside Johnny’s boxers, drawing him out.

Johnny closed his eyes when Peter’s right hand touched his cock.  Peter shoved Johnny’s underwear down just enough to give him better access and began to move in long, slow strokes that immediately had Johnny lifting his hips to meet them.

“So eager,” Peter observed, watching as Johnny slowly fell apart, eyes nearly rolling back in his head as Peter kept him in his strong grip. Peter’s fingers massaged Johnny’s leaking head, spreading the fluid down the length of him. The wet sound of his palm gliding up and down Johnny’s shaft seemed obscenely loud and Johnny looked a breath away from bursting into flames. “You’re so hot.”

Johnny cursed, biting off a long, low moan as another involuntary shudder rocked his whole body, hips bucking frantically in an effort get Peter to pick up the pace.

“Easy there, hot stuff,” Peter murmured, dropping a kiss on Johnny’s shoulder.  He slid his right leg up and over Johnny’s thighs to keep him still, holding him down with just a fraction of his strength.

Johnny glared at him, eyes sparking orange for an instant. “That’s not fair.”

“Again, show me the rule book,” Peter smirked, leg tightening and hooking him in closer, close enough that Peter could grind his neglected dick against the side of Johnny’s hip. Johnny squirmed, body instinctively moving towards both Peter’s hand and Peter’s warm body. “Johnny. Do you trust me?”

“Hell of a thing to ask when you’ve got my dick in your hand, Parker.”

“Johnny.”

He groaned. “Yes. Yes, I trust you. What—” He stopped, eyes growing wide. He turned his head to look at Peter’s face and then down at the hand on his cock. “Oh my  _God_ , what are you  _doing_?”

Peter said nothing, concentrating on sticking one finger after another around Johnny’s shaft before going back and gently unsticking them one by one.

“That…that feels so weird,” Johnny breathed. “And fucking hot. Don’t stop.”

Peter obliged, doing it over and over again until Johnny was nearly shaking apart, his hands clutching Peter’s arm.

Johnny turned his head and moaned into Peter’s neck. “This feels so  _wrong_.”

“How does it feel?” Peter asked, watching the expressions Johnny was making with fascination.

Johnny suddenly stopped to glower at him, squeezing Peter’s wrist until his hand stilled. “Are you seriously saying you’ve never tried this on  _yourself_? You decided to get all experimental on  _my_ —Oh, God.”

Peter had adjusted his grip just then, shifting back into a normal hold and twisting his wrist as he dragged his hand up Johnny’s cock, hearing Johnny’s needy whine change into soft whimpers.  “Come on, pretty boy,” Peter said under his breath, hand moving faster. He moved closer and whispered, right in Johnny’s ear. “You’re so gorgeous.  I bet you’re even prettier when you’re coming all over my fingers.”

Johnny shivered again, just as Peter thought he might, at the praise. He caught sight of Peter’s smirk, growled and shoved him onto his back, straddling his hips with his hands braced against Peter’s chest for support.

“That’s it,” Peter urged, entranced, as Johnny cast all inhibitions aside and started fucking wildly into the circle of Peter’s palm and fingers, pressed against his stomach. Peter reached up to cradle his face and Johnny turned his head, panting into Peter’s hand. “You’re beautiful like this,” he said, squeezing against Johnny’s thrusts.

The words were all he needed, and Johnny came with a low cry, spilling hot all over Peter’s fingers, his come pooling on the dips and valleys of Peter’s abs, and almost sobbed with relief. He really was beautiful, Peter thought, even more so in the throes of orgasm, mouth half-open, eyes glazed, and face alight with bliss.

Johnny collapsed onto Peter’s chest, ignoring the mess of come and sweat between them. “Well,” he began after a while, finding his voice again. “That was nice,” he said lightly.

_“Nice?”_

Johnny laughed and pulled Peter’s hand to his lips, slowly licking off his own come in a way that had Peter twitching in his pants.  “You’re one perverted weirdo, anyone tell you that?”

“I’m one  _what_?”

“Using your super sticky spider powers like that. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Who was begging me not to stop, huh?” Peter asked, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not going to be able to watch you crawl on the walls for weeks.”

Peter snorted.

“Hey, I like watching you crawl on the walls. Really shows off your butt.”

“I’m feeling very objectified right now.”

Johnny laughed again, lips feather-light across Peter’s jaw. “You’re still wearing too many clothes, Pete,” he gently reminded him.

Peter sat up, effortlessly picking Johnny up, off him, and settled him down on the bed. He heard Johnny’s deep intake of breath and looked at him sharply. “Did I hurt you?”

Johnny looked confused for a moment. “What? Oh…no. I just…”

Peter cocked his head then blinked in understanding. “Do you like that?” he asked, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Being manhandled?”

“A little bit,” Johnny said, feigning nonchalance.

“Guess I’ll keep that in mind along with a lot of other things I’ve recently learned about you.”

Johnny flushed in response but said nothing, watching him intently as he peeled off the rest of his suit and then his boxers, before taking off Johnny’s underwear the rest of the way and tossing all of them off the bed and onto the floor.

“Better?”

Johnny looked up at his face. “No, because you’re just kneeling there flexing your annoyingly perfect muscles at me instead of putting them to good use.”

Peter rolled his eyes and pushed him back down. “Lube?”

“God,” Johnny breathed, as if finally realizing what was about to happen. He covered his eyes with one hand and swallowed. “Second drawer. Left nightstand.  _My_  left,” he corrected when he felt Peter move for the wrong one.

Peter found the lube easily but couldn’t seem to locate a condom.

“Peter, if you’re drawing this out on purpose—”

“Condoms, Johnny. Do you have any? Are they in the bathroom?”

“Bottom drawer. Hurry the fuck up.”

Peter found them together with a blue dildo, which Peter ignored for the moment but made a note of and filed it away. He took a condom and tossed it onto the bed. Then he crawled back towards Johnny and slid one knee between the other man’s thighs, nudging them apart to make room for him.

Johnny’s long legs fell open and Peter’s mouth suddenly felt dry. Giving your best friend a handjob and walking away afterward would be awkward, sure, but it wasn’t as utterly irrevocable as fucking him.

Johnny peeked out from under his hand. “Pete?” he called tentatively. “We…You don’t have to. We can just— We can stop.”

Peter looked him in the face and saw the faint blush of shame and uncertainty. “I want to.”

Johnny’s face fell. “Oh. Well, that’s— Okay.”

Peter blinked, puzzled, until he realized what he’d just said sounded like. “No, no, no,” he said hastily, holding up a hand as Johnny started to get back up. “I meant I want to do this. Please, Johnny.”

He froze. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Okay, Peter.”

Peter picked up the lube and carefully slicked up his fingers, giving Johnny one more questioning look.

Johnny nodded once and laid his hands flat on the bed. In the next moment, they’re fisted around the sheets, a desperate wail escaping his lips at the merest brush of Peter’s finger over his hole.

“Ssh,” Peter hushed him, one hand on Johnny’s stomach. Arousal tugged heavily at his gut at the sight of the latter, so receptive to everything Peter did, so hungry for him. Peter still had a hard time believing that Johnny was this starved, this frantic, because he had wanted this for so long.

“Peter,” Johnny begged, a tremor in his voice. “Peter, please—”

Peter’s finger slid easily home, meeting little resistance, and he frowned at the realization that Johnny was already looser than he should be. “Johnny?”

Johnny looked up at him and laughed a little at the question in his eyes. “I didn’t know you were coming over.  I had to… Had to get you out of my system, even just for a little while. I didn’t—I didn’t know we’d—”

“You didn’t know we’d end up having sex anyway so you, what? Fucked yourself?”

Johnny shuddered.

“Did you fuck yourself while thinking of me, Johnny?” he asked, keeping his finger steady, his voice low. “Were you pretending I was here with you? Inside you?”

“Yes,” he said, voice coarse and ragged, as if the admission was being dragged out of his throat against his will. “Yes, I was thinking of you. I’m  _always_  thinking of you. Even when I couldn’t remember your face—”

Johnny keened when Peter pulled out his finger and swiftly replaced it with two, curling deep into him to unerringly find that one sweet spot.

“Oh, God. Pete—”

Peter swallowed Johnny’s cries with a kiss, feeling Johnny’s hands scrabbling to hold on to his shoulders, as if Peter were a rock in the ocean, and he was fighting to keep from being swept out to sea.

It didn’t take long for Johnny to get hard again, despite Peter pointedly avoiding touching him there in favor of the sensitive bundle of nerves inside him, allowing Johnny to rut against his own erection, rubbing their cocks together, until it threatened to send them both over the edge.

He pulled his fingers out, ignoring Johnny’s mumbled protests, which stopped abruptly anyway when he saw Peter rolling the condom onto his cock and slicking himself with lube. He nudged Johnny’s legs up and further apart, spread wide and bent at the knees, and grasped his cock, poised at Johnny’s entrance. “Any last words?” he asked lightly, his voice shaking.

Johnny graced him with a withering glare. “Yeah.  _Fuck me_  before I set your hair on fire.”

Peter couldn’t stop the low moan that escaped the back of his throat when he sank into Johnny, so warm and so tight around him. Johnny gasped at the same time. The dildo Peter had seen in his drawer was nowhere near as big as Peter himself, and despite the preparation, the breadth of him would inevitably burn at least a little.

He pushed in slowly until he was fully sheathed and kept still, waiting for any indication that Johnny was ready for more, watching his face, the lower lip caught between his teeth, the adorable furrow in his brow.

After a few moments, Johnny swallowed, his eyes meeting Peter’s. “Peter,  _move_.”

That was all he needed, spurred on by Johnny raising his legs higher, locking his ankles around Peter’s waist as leverage when he lifted up his hips to meet Peter’s downward thrusts.

Johnny’s fingers dug into his shoulders, not quite painful but just enough to keep him grounded, to remind him of just what, exactly, was happening. That this was Johnny Storm, one of his oldest friends, one of his best friends, holding on to him as if it would hurt to let go.  That this wasn’t just  _sex_ , that it went beyond a physical desire. That in the days and weeks and years of Peter loving Johnny as a friend, something else had been blooming there, unnoticed, all along.

“Peter,” Johnny whispered in his ear.  _“Harder.”_

How was he supposed to deny that?

Johnny cried out with the next thrust, one that pushed them both further up the bed, and with the next, and the next, his voice hoarse when the top of his head hit the headboard.

Peter froze and looked down at him, aghast.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Johnny said in a rush to reassure him, to keep him going. “You didn’t hurt me. Don’t stop. Pete—”

Peter started moving again, trying to be more careful, at least at first, an objective Johnny obliterated with a low growl, a roll of his hips, and his fingers tugging on Peter’s hair. Soon they were back at it just as before, the bed slamming into the wall repeatedly, Peter’s mouth on every inch of Johnny’s skin he could reach, and Johnny’s hands twisting in his hair, digging into the back of his head.

“If you could see yourself now,” Peter whispered hoarsely. “God, you’re a fucking wreck. So fucking beautiful.”

It was too much. Three more snaps of Peter’s hips, erratic and out of rhythm, and Johnny came with a harsh cry, come dripping onto his own stomach. Peter rode out Johnny’s orgasm, feeling him tighten and clench around his cock as he continued to fuck into him at the same nearly brutal pace until he, too, came with a groan. Peter held still, emptying himself into the condom while feeling like he was also emptying his mind, all coherent thought suddenly gone. His orgasm left him shaking and weak, and he felt weirdly floaty, fearless of heights and dizzy. He felt even lighter than air.

 _“Fuck,”_  he said against Johnny’s cheek, completely in awe of what had just happened.

Johnny lowered his legs, laughing, and shifted underneath him as he pulled out. “Yeah. Exactly.”

Peter buried his face in Johnny’s shoulder, his body relaxing, and his breathing and heart rate slowly returning to normal. He pressed his lips against Johnny’s neck briefly before sitting up and bounding out of bed.

“Pete?”

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” he threw over his shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom to hunt for a washcloth.

“I _was_ going to ask you out point-blank, you know,” Johnny murmured later, after Peter had disposed of the condom and wiped them both clean.

“What?” he frowned, looking down as Johnny settled inside the crook of his shoulder and pushed his face into Peter’s neck once more.

“I was going to ask you out, the day I came over to your place and realized I was disgustingly in love with you after seeing those pictures.”

“You…Why didn’t you?” Peter asked, thinking of all the time they’d wasted dancing around each other.

Johnny huffed. “Because when I tried to bring it up, you threw your back out and I had to give you a massage. Then you went and made all those horrible porn noises and I got…distracted. And then I just...lost my nerve.”

“When you say _distracted_...?”

Johnny turned bright red, answering the question.

“Was it the part about the gag that nearly pushed you over the edge? Because I have ideas—”

Johnny viciously jabbed an elbow into Peter’s stomach.

“That only tickles, you know.”

“I really don’t know why I like you,” Johnny complained.

“Is it because of my big—”

Johnny covered his mouth with one hand. “Stop. I’m trying to enjoy this post-sex haze and you’re going to ruin it. So please, Peter, for once, will you just  _shut up_?”

Peter nodded and tugged Johnny’s hand away from his face.

“If I fall asleep, I’m not going to wake up to find that you freaked out in the middle of the night and ran off, am I?” Johnny asked anxiously, playing with Peter’s fingers.

“I might freak out a little bit.”

“Peter.”

“I might freak out a lot, actually, but I’ll be here,” he promised.

Johnny squeezed his fingers and smiled. His hair was in total disarray and his lips were bruised. He looked like every marble sculpture Peter had ever seen and every wet dream he’d ever had rolled into one. Filthy and beautiful all at the same time.

Peter buried his face in Johnny’s soft curls and breathed in the familiar scent of his shampoo. He felt giddy at the knowledge that he could do that any time he wanted now, without having to think of any pretense or fearing that Johnny might not like it. “You know your sister thinks this could all end badly?”

Johnny snorted softly against Peter’s neck. “Well, we’ll just have to prove her wrong, don’t we?”

 

+///+

 

Peter saw Johnny waiting for him by the park entrance a block away, a small crowd of tourists discreetly taking his picture from several yards while a man and a woman, clearly either less shy or more shameless approached him directly.

Johnny was posing for a picture with them, a small ball of flame balanced in his palm, and didn’t see the thing that came charging from within the park entrance, amid screaming and shouting, until after it had slammed into him and thrown him several feet down the sidewalk, straight into a pizza cart.

Peter saw red. He wasn’t in his suit. It wasn’t even under his clothes. It was folded neatly and tucked away at the bottom of his bag. There was  _nowhere_  to change.

He was considering throwing his secret identity to the wind again in order to punch the shit out of what attacked Johnny when Johnny got up, groaning, pepperoni and mushrooms in his hair. “You have  _got_  to be kidding!” he shouted at the creature that had come out from nowhere, looking like a cross between a crocodile and a velociraptor.

Peter sagged in relief.

“I have a  _date_ , asshole,” he heard Johnny say, hurling handfuls of flames after the monster. “I’m meeting my boyfriend’s mom. I’ve met her before but we weren’t dating  _then_ , so this is the first impression that actually counts, you stupid... _fake_  dinosaur!”

It whined in agony as one of the fireballs engulfed its front paws when it attempted to shield its head from more of Johnny’s attacks. Eventually, apparently realizing the barrage wasn’t about to let up any time soon, it turned on its hind legs and ran away, back into the park the way it had come.

Peter heard screaming from the direction it had disappeared into, as well as from at least five separate locations at the same time.

Johnny was picking pepperoni slices off his t-shirt when Peter ran over, hands gently tilting Johnny’s face this way that and then patting him down.

“You’re not hurt?” Peter asked, just to make sure.

“I’m pretty sure my ass is covered in bruises but other than that...”

Peter let out a sigh of relief. “Don’t scare me like that.”

Johnny’s eyes darted off to one side, in the direction of a new, louder set of screams.

“I know we have to do something about the fake dinosaur,” Peter said.

“I think it brought friends,” Johnny said, offended. “I guess the universe ignored my memo.”

Peter kissed him once, quick but fierce.  “I gotta change.”

Johnny’s eye twitched, a meatball chunk sliding down his hair and cheek until he impatiently flicked it away. “Pizza and a monster movie,” he said, lips quirking.

Peter snorted and started to laugh, touching their foreheads together. “You and me.” He had to kiss him again. So he did, laughing. “I love you.”

Johnny looked startled, then thrilled, and finally resigned. “Peter, you finally get those words out and it’s while I’m covered in pizza sauce and possibly about to be eaten by alien monsters?”

“I’m a mess.”

Johnny smiled softly. “You are, but you’re  _my_  mess.” Johnny tilted his face for another kiss. “As much as I’d prefer to keep doing this, though, we gotta get to work. Unless you want videos of us making out while monsters tear up the park to go viral and  _then_  there goes the first impression I wanted to give Aunt May that I’m a nice, reliable, responsible young man.”

“I don’t think she harbors any illusions, but all right,” he said, breaking away and running off for the nearest cover, moving as fast as he could.

He saw Johnny rise high, covered in flames, as striking as a comet and  _still_  yelling at the monsters for ruining his plans.

"You guys are  _totally_ ruining _Jurassic Park_ for me," Johnny shouted. "That was supposed to be for the next movie night!"

Peter rolled his eyes as he changed on the go, moving too fast to be more than a blur.  He burst out of a nearby alley a couple of minutes later, all suited up, and caught Johnny’s eye.

“That was fast,” Johnny greeted him, even as other heroes started pouring into the park.

“Couldn’t leave my best bud hanging, could I?” Peter asked, webbing one of the alien reptiles to a tree.

“Better not,” Johnny said, almost negligently tossing a fireball at another monster and hitting it square in the back. “Unless you think you can live without eyebrows.”

"Also, I'm going to have to nix the _Jurassic Park_. After this, I don't think I can stand it."

"That's cool.  The next option was  _Arachnophobia,"_   Johnny deadpanned, ducking as Peter threw one monster at another.

Peter glared at him.  Johnny couldn't see it under the mask, but he knew Johnny would know he was glaring at him.  "In that case, let's go the whole hog and do the trilogy  _plus_ that new movie."

"Gross, we're only doing the classics," Johnny told him, trapping the pair Peter had knocked over in a flame prison.

“Not bad, you two,” a voice said from somewhere behind them, making them jump. It was Luke Cage, looking like he could glare a monster or two to death. “Think you can hold down this side?”

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Johnny asked, indignant.

“An idiot and his boyfriend, also an idiot.”

Johnny looked at Peter. “Did you tell them about us? It’s only been a week, I thought you wanted to wait a bit longer before we went public. It took forever to get you to agree telling Sue!”

“I was joking,” Luke said flatly, as Iron Fist ran past him. “It was a  _joke_. And now I know  _way_  more than I wanted to.”

“Oops,” Johnny said, not sounding bothered by his own slip-up at all.

“We got this, Luke,” Peter said.

“God, I can’t believe this crap universe would let you two get together,” Luke muttered, walking on.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” Johnny huffed as Peter webbed another pseudo-dino and swung it around like a slingshot. “You and I are great. You and I are a winning combination.”

Peter, with his whole heart and entire being, agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> For the non-comic readers, Peter told Johnny and the FF his secret identity prior to the events of the Civil War, during which he then told the entire world. When Aunt May nearly died, he makes a deal with Mephisto to rewrite history which erased everyone’s knowledge of who was behind the Spider-Man mask.
> 
> On an adventure with the FF in ASM 590-591, Johnny realizes that something’s off, culminating in the mask-burning incident during which Sue protects Peter’s identity. In the end, however, Peter reveals himself to them again.


End file.
